


Waiting

by Queerbutstillhere



Category: DCU (Comics), Super Sons (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Damijon - Freeform, Hospitals, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Procedures, Referenced Childhood Trauma, Referenced scars, Referenced violence, Serious Injuries, birthday fic, happy birthday to my amazing friend!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27402730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queerbutstillhere/pseuds/Queerbutstillhere
Summary: The phone call was unexpected, but heart stopping. Jon should have known his boyfriend would do something like this. For all he tried to deny it, he was too good, too honorable to do nothing, to let innocent people get hurt. Jon should have been more prepared for this. But he never was. He never would be.
Relationships: Jonathan Samuel Kent/Damian Wayne
Comments: 6
Kudos: 159





	Waiting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [battoad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/battoad/gifts).



> Hello! This is a fic written for my wonderful friend! Happy Birthday! You are awesome and wonderful and I love you so much!
> 
> Also you just kept telling us "I'm a slut for angst" so like.... This is what I came up with. Enjoy you funky frog lover!!!!

Panic swelled in his chest, wrapping his lungs and throat like thorny vines, choking him, dragging him down, making it hard to move his limbs. Jon was going to cry - he could feel it bubbling up, like a dam already bursting at the seams.

The cold wind whipping past his face didn’t help either, only stinging his eyes even further.

He had been in class, about to give a speech, when his phone started ringing. He was about to dismiss the call, but the fact that it was Dick calling him immediately made his heart jump into his throat. So he just slipped out of the classroom, pointing to his phone so the teacher could see and answered the call. Dick was frantic, words coming through hiccuping sobs. But it had been enough to piece things together.

Damian was in surgery. And then he’ll be in the ICU.

Jon tore back into the classroom, shoving his things into his bag, and barely waited long enough to explain that his boyfriend was in the ICU before running out the door, leaving a shocked class behind him. 

He hadn’t been out to them. But he didn’t really care at the moment. The only thing that mattered right now was how fast could he fly to Gotham, and judging from the sonic booms he kept leaving in his wake, the answer was  _ very fast. _

He landed behind the hospital a little harder than intended, accidentally cracking the pavement. Then he twirled and sprinted around to the Emergency Room doors.

He was fighting for air, gasping slightly, gripping his backpack straps tightly, trying to keep himself grounded. Trying to stay as calm as he could.

Dick was pacing around one side of the emergency room, but he looked like the only one in the family who was there.

“Dick!?” Jon called, hurrying over. Dick whirled to face him.

“Jon, thank God. Come on.”

Jon didn’t even get time to breathe, just got pulled past the fire doors and down the hall, down to a private waiting room. Inside was more of the family - Bruce sitting at a table with his laptop, fingers hovering over the keys, but not typing. Tim was slumped in a chair in one corner of the room, texting, and Cass was sitting against the wall, just staring at the floor.

“What happened?” Jon asked, voice cracking.

They were all silent for a bit, and then Tim was the first to speak.

“We were downtown, shopping. Some guy came in and started threatening the cashier. It seemed personal, not just about the money. But he pulled a gun and started shooting into the air. Damian jumped forwards to take him down and. . . it’s different when you don’t have any armor to protect you.”

A cold chill ran through Jon’s body, and he suddenly felt ill.

“Where?”

“Lower right abdomen. He’s been in surgery for about two hours now. Full laparotomy.”

“Fuck,” Jon whispered, collapsing in the nearest chair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The bats were restless, Jon could tell that instantly. They were all used to being in there, performing the surgery, being the one gowned up, gloves stained red with blood. And now here they were, forced to wait, forced to sit still. Hell, even Jon had assisted through a laparotomy before. 

They sat there for hours. Jon’s parents called. His friends called. Damian’s friends called. Jon ignored most of them, preferring to send texts. He didn’t trust his voice or emotions. He felt fragile, and all he could do was focus on the doctors, talking amongst themselves, the insisting  _ beep beep beep beep _ of Damian’s heart rate monitor. Usually having super hearing was a benefit, but Jon couldn’t decide if this was worse or not. He would be the first person to know.

It didn’t take the bats long to pick up that he had tuned into the surgery, watching him carefully for any facial reactions. He was just staring blankly at the floor, zoned out, but they could tell he was listening.

The surgery stretched into the evening. Alfred came and sat next to Bruce, both of them pale and silent. Alfred was keeping himself busy by knitting, the clicking of his needles soft in the background of Jon's hearing.

"Okay, I can't anymore."

Everyone started as Dick jumped up. Jon was yanked back into the room, confused as to what was going on.

"Dick," Bruce said softly.

"No, I can't. Jon, what's going on in there? I know you're listening to his surgery."

Jon took a deep breath, taking a moment to find his voice. He hadn't spoken in several hours, and his attention was still half on the surgery. 

"They're doing one last exploration of his abdominal cavity before suturing him up," he said softly. "He's on blood transfusions and an IV drip, but his vitals all seem to be stabilized."

Dick let out a small sigh, and the others also seemed to almost collapse with relief. "Thank you."

Another hour slid by in slow agony. And then the door popped open, making Jon shoot upright, looking over at it. Bruce immediately stood. A woman in pink scrubs walked in, still adjusting her lab coat.

“Mr. Wayne. I’m Doctor Smith,” she greeted, extending her hand. 

Bruce stepped forwards and shook it. “How is he?”

“He’s stable. The bullet did some damage to some of his internal organs, mainly his stomach and large intestines, but we managed to repair those. We’re going to keep him here to monitor him for any internal bleeding and to make sure there wasn’t any further damage that we missed. But he’s stable and being moved to a room for the evening. He shouldn’t have to be in the ICU if he keeps down this good path.”

Bruce let out a sigh of relief, nodding. “Good. I’m glad. Thank you so much.”

Dr. Smith nodded. “Of course. It’s what we do.” She paused, glanced at the others, and then dropped her voice. “Mr. Wayne. Your son had considerable scarring on his. . . well, everywhere. More than most people in his age and position in life should have. Normally I wouldn’t say anything, but this was. . . an alarming amount of scarring, and it looked like this was not the first laparotomy he’s had.”

Bruce’s breath caught, just for a second, enough that Jon noticed it. 

“Damian had a rough childhood. He is quite safe and happy now.”

Doctor Smith looked like she didn’t quite believe him, but she didn’t press either, just nodded.

“A nurse will come get you when he’s settled in a room.”

Not longer after, a nurse poked her head in and called them, so they all hurried to scoop up their things and follow her down the halls and up an elevator. Eventually she led them into a dark room. She explained that he was still under anesthesia, and even after he did wake up, they shouldn’t expect much by way of lucidness from him, judging from the blood loss and medications he was on. 

None of them told her about his tolerance to pain medications. Damian did look a little ashen; his head was to one side in the bed, which he was laying partially upright in. He had an IV in his hand and a bloodline in the other arm. The covers were pulled up over his stomach, but Jon’s eyes went there anyway, knowing there’d be a fresh line of stitches. He wandered over, gently sitting on the edge of the bed, reaching out and touching Damian’s face lightly. Then he slid his hand down to feel his pulse, needing to double check, even despite the steady beeping of the heart monitor right next to them.

Jon ended up staying that night. The others all had to go out on patrol, and somehow he was able to convince Dick and Alfred that it would be better if he was here. After all, with all his powers, he’d be able to tell soonest if something was wrong. So he got some pillows and blankets from the nurses and made himself comfortable on the sofa. He studied late into the night, and when he finally passed out, it was with a notebook on his knee and a pen still in his hand.

He remembered startling awake a few times throughout the night as the nurses came in and checked on Damian, but it was mostly just waking up enough to make sure everything was okay, and then dozing off again.

The next morning, he went and got breakfast early, and came back to, unsurprisingly, a still asleep Damian.

He was starting to get concerned. Never before had Damian been asleep for this long. He supposed it was just due to the trauma he had gone through, but Damian had certainly been through worse, and had never been out of it for this long. But he just ate and emailed his professors explaining the “family” emergency that was causing him to skip class. After his emails were sent, he just sat there, finishing up the last bits of his sausage and gravy, watching an old episode of  _ Beartown _ , because it’s a good show and he has no shame.

He heard the slight shifting the second it started. His head shot up and his eyes immediately found Damian across the room. He had turned to face Jon, squinting at him.

“Damian?”

Jon jumped up, dumping his laptop on the sofa beside him and jumping up, heart immediately pounding faster. He practically leapt the few steps across the room, sitting next to Damian’s thigh and grabbing his hand. 

“Hey, babe. Hi, it’s me. It’s Jon.”

Damian squinted blearily at him, then closed his eyes.

“They need to give me more meds,” he grumbled, squeezing Jon’s hand tightly.

Jon let out a sigh of relief, dropping his head slightly, kissing Damian’s knuckles. 

“You had us worried, you ass.”

Damian gave a rough chuckle and a shrug.

“You worry too much.”

“I think I worry the right amount, with you as my boyfriend.”

Damian just grinned at him, his eyes still closed.

“How do you feel?”

“Like someone cut open my stomach and played around in my intestines for a bit.”

“Well. . . that’s not entirely wrong.”

Damian snorted. “How bad?”

“Just the bullet wound and some damage to internal organs that they patched up. They’re monitoring you for signs of internal bleeding or infection right now. They said a week or two before release.”

“Ah, fuck.”

Jon just laughed, shaking his head as he leaned forwards, gently kissing Damian.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he promised, running his hand along Damian’s cheek.

“I know, I know. I just don’t look forward to spending a week or more here, when I would already be out on the streets by now.”

“I know, but they’re already questioning all your scars, we don’t need them to start questioning your healing rate.”

Damian breathed a heavy sigh, shaking his head.

“Worry wart.”

“Daredevil.”

Jon leaned down and pressed a long kiss to Damian’s forehead. He was okay. He would be okay.

Now he just had to convince himself of that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> Huge shout out to thathydrokinetic (shelbychild on tumblr) and Wisdom_Walks_Alone (wisdom-walks-alone on tumblr) for betaing for me!!!!


End file.
